


The Greatest of These

by sneetchstar



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 05:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10564251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Arthur and Guinevere meet during Merlin and Morgana's wedding. Their immediate attraction is hindered by one small detail.





	1. Chapter 1

“Morgana.” Guinevere’s voice is low and serious as she pokes her best friend in the shoulder. “Who. Is _that_?”

Morgana follows where her friend’s eyes are pointing. “Oh, that’s just Arthur,” she answers, as though the man in the exquisitely tailored business suit and shoes that probably cost more than Guinevere’s car wasn’t the single most beautiful specimen of man she has ever seen. “You’ve heard Merlin talk about him, remember?”

Guinevere is dumbstruck. She knows Merlin has a best friend called Arthur, but he generally refers to him by such flattering terms as “Cabbage Head”, “Clotpole” (whatever _that_ is), and “Prat”. She is unable to reconcile the man standing in the doorway of the church with these terms. He’s currently on the phone, discussing something that looks to be very important.

Then he glances up and his blue eyes lock with Guinevere's brown ones for just a second. Heat floods through her and she quickly turns back to Morgana before she can see that his jaw goes slack and his speech stops mid-word. “Merlin calls him a prat most of the time… he doesn’t look like a prat.”

Morgana laughs. “You know lads. They show affection by being awful towards one another. Really, Gwen, you’ve been in that tropical paradise for too long,” she lightly teases. “You’ve forgotten how regular people operate.”

Guinevere is fairly sure that Arthur is not a regular person. “I have not,” she says, keeping her thoughts to herself. She glances over again. He is holding his phone with his left hand. No ring. _But surely he can’t be single._

Then, sure enough, a pretty blonde comes walking in. He leans down as she lifts up on tiptoe and kisses his cheek. Guinevere frowns.

“That’s his stepsister Elena,” Morgana whispers. When Guinevere looks back, eyes wide, Morgana laughs again. “It’s nice to know you are still completely transparent.”

“Just to you, Morgs,” Guinevere says. “Okay, yes, he’s handsome. Even you have to admit that much.”

“I only have eyes for my Merlin,” Morgana answers loudly, blowing a kiss over Guinevere’s head to her groom-to-be a short distance away. “But yeah, Arthur’s fit,” she quietly adds, just for Gwen’s ears. “And you better get your shit together, because you’re paired up with him for the wedding. Arthur’s the best man.”

“What?” Guinevere asks. “I thought it was going to be Gwaine!”

Morgana makes a face. “It was never Gwaine! Who told you that?”

“Gwaine did!”

“Of course he did,” Morgana rolls her eyes. “Cheeky bastard. Oh well. Not my problem,” she laughs. Then she looks at the time. “Oi! Pendragon! Get your arse off the phone; we need to get this rehearsal started so we’re not late for our dinner reservations!”

 _Pendragon? Arthur_ Pendragon _is Merlin’s best friend?_ Guinevere ponders this as she surreptitiously watches Arthur tuck his phone in his breast pocket – _oh my, he has beautiful hands –_ and walk over to where the rest of the wedding party is gathered.

 

xXx

 

 _She looks like a goddess._ That was Arthur’s thought when his eyes landed on Guinevere, standing in the middle of the church beside Morgana. Swathed in a flowing lavender sundress with her hair in a loose side bun, her skin dusky and sun-kissed, she momentarily rendered him speechless when her beautiful eyes connected with his.

“Arthur? Are you there? Hello?” Leon's voice on the other end of the phone finally penetrates his consciousness.

“Yes, sorry, I’m here,” he quickly recovers. “Must have hit a dead spot,” he lies.

He hardly notices when Elena comes in and pecks him on the cheek in greeting. He doesn’t really remember the rest of his phone conversation either, and when Morgana starts yelling at him to get off the phone, he quickly does so. As he begins walking towards them, he is almost embarrassed by how desperately he is hoping his beautiful goddess is the mysterious Gwen that Morgana goes on and on about.

As he moves closer, he notices she seems to be looking everywhere except at him. He wants to take this as a good sign, especially considering how her tawny skin tinged pink when their eyes met.

“Are we ready to begin?” the pastor asks, looking around the group.

“Um, I think we need to make some introductions first. We have some people in from out of town,” Merlin says. “Okay, um… Gwen, well, you know Gwaine… this is my cousin Will,” he points to a young man with dark hair and bright blue eyes, “and this is Arthur. Will, Arthur, this is Guinevere Leodegrance. She’s Morgana’s best mate… you know, the one she talks about all the time.”

“Hello,” Guinevere says, smiling at Will, then Arthur. Will waves. Arthur extends his hand, and she takes it, hoping her palms aren’t as clammy as she thinks they are.

“Lovely to meet you, Guinevere,” Arthur says. He wants to lift her hand to his lips and kiss it, but he doesn’t want her to think he’s like Gwaine. Instead, he lightly strokes the back of her hand with his thumb before releasing it.

When she smiles, blushes again, and quickly turns towards Morgana, who begins introducing the other women in the wedding party, Arthur feels his heartbeat quicken.

“She’s single, Clotpole,” Merlin mutters. “But she lives in Turks and Caicos.”

“Yes, Morgana has said,” Arthur replies. “Often.” He feels like he knows so much about Guinevere – _I really like that name. It's much better than just Gwen –_ but thus far their paths have never crossed. He knows she is originally from Southampton, like Morgana, but her family is from the Caribbean, and they moved back there after her grandfather died to help her grandmother run the small resort their family owns.

Arthur feels a sudden urge to visit the Caribbean. Soon.

“All right, now that everyone knows everyone else, shall we begin?” the pastor announces.

 

xXx

 

“Arthur, put your phone away,” Elena huffs, leaning over to peer at his screen. “Who is that, Uther? He knows you're busy tonight; why is he bothering you?” she asks, then pulls out her own phone.

“Elena, what are you doing?” Arthur asks.

“Texting Daddy so he'll keep Uther occupied,” Elena says, fingers flying on her phone. “There. I suggested they go to Chez Caerleon for a romantic dinner.” Arthur rolls his eyes and puts his phone away. “What?” Elena innocently asks. “They need to relax, and so do you. He works you too hard.”

“Arthur has two dads?” Guinevere quietly asks Morgana, overhearing this exchange.

Morgana snorts, almost choking on her wine. “Yeah,” she answers. “Uther and Godwin… late bloomers, them,” she laughs. “They were both married – to women – had children, and wound up widowers. I daresay no one was more surprised than Uther and Godwin themselves.”

Guinevere tilts her head slightly. “Good for them. Happiness can often be found in unexpected places,” she says, her eyes subconsciously flicking in Arthur's direction. Again.

She is proud of herself for not being a complete idiot during the rehearsal. She didn't trip over her own feet or suffer from verbal diarrhea or ask him to marry her or anything. She may or may not have felt up his arm a little bit as they walked up and down the aisle (especially after he took off his jacket). And she may or may not have leaned in a little closer to him than necessary to see what he smells like (and was not disappointed).

She _thinks_ he was checking her out a little, too, but she's not sure if he really was or if she was just hoping.

“Right,” Morgana drily replies, “like at wedding rehearsals.”

“Yeah,” Gwen absently agrees. Then, “Wait, what?”

“You heard me. Why didn't you sit next to him?”

Gwen's eyes widen. “Obvious much?”

“Oh, and _you're_ being so subtle?” Morgana retorts. “He's checking you out, too, you know.”

“He is not… is he?”

“Merlin.”

“Yes, Love?” Merlin asks, turning towards them.

“Arthur is single, yes?” she quietly asks.

Merlin nods. “I think he fancies Gwen a bit,” he blurts, a little too loudly.

“Who fancies Gwen?” Gwaine asks very loudly, leaning forward. “I mean, besides me.”

“Excuse me, I'll just be crawling under the table now,” Gwen says, covering her face with her hands, not even daring to look and see if Arthur heard.

“I do, Gwaine darling. I was just telling Merlin that the wedding is off because I am running off to Turks and Caicos,” Morgana teases.

“Brilliant. Can I come watch?” Gwaine asks, and Merlin smacks him on the shoulder.

Their food arrives, further rescuing Guinevere, but she still leans over and whispers to Morgana, “Tell your fiancé that I am going to kill him.”

“You won't have to,” Morgana replies. chuckling. “Arthur is already looking daggers at him.”

Arthur heard what Merlin said. He also heard Gwaine's comment, and saw how it embarrassed Guinevere. Not that she's not adorable when she blushes, but he did not like seeing it caused by genuine mortification.

He was unusually quiet during the rehearsal, finding himself somewhat tongue-tied by her proximity. He can't remember the last time he's been this attracted to someone. Not just attracted, _intrigued._ She is just so uniquely beautiful, with her soft brown bedroom eyes, full lips, and incredible scattering of freckles over her nose and cheekbones.

He wants to kiss each one of those freckles.

He wants to know if all of her skin is as soft as the skin on her hands. It certainly looks it. He glances over again, allowing his eyes to linger on her shoulders, following the line of her collarbone then down, to the swell of her bosom and the tiny bit of cleavage showing.

“You gonna eat that bite of steak?” Elena asks. She leans closer and quietly adds, “Maybe if we put it in Gwen's cleav—”

“Elena,” Arthur cuts her off, popping the bite of steak into his mouth. “Honestly, you're as bad as Merlin sometimes.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” she replies. “You going to ask her out or just sit here and pine?”

“I think I'll pine for a bit longer,” he answers with a casualness he doesn't really feel. “She's going to go back home after the wedding anyway.”

“So? In this day and age, that's not really a deterrent,” Elena points out. “And it's not like the Pendragon-Gawants don't have more than one private jet or anything, jeez.”

Arthur merely _humphs_ into his ale.

“You're being an old poop and I'm glad I'm paired with Gwaine tomorrow,” she says, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Oh, very mature,” he says, trying not to laugh.

 

xXx

 

After dinner, there is talk of going to the pubs, but Gwen declines, still tired from traveling.

When Arthur also claims he is too tired for revelry – “I've had a very hectic week” – Merlin nudges him. Hard.

“What?” Arthur asks, frowning down at his recently assaulted arm, then over at Merlin.

“Offer to take Gwen back to her hotel before she calls a taxi,” Merlin quietly says.

“I couldn't,” Arthur protests. “She'll think I'm a creeper.”

“Oh, she will not. She's taking out her mobile, Arthur…” When Arthur still hesitates, Merlin takes matters into his own hands. “Gwen!”

“Merlin!” Arthur whisper-yells.

Merlin ignores him. “Arthur's leaving too. He can give you a ride.”

“Oh, I don't want to be a bother,” she answers, trying not to sound hopeful.

“Nonsense. Save you cab fare. Plus, your hotel is on his way,” Merlin presses.

“Is it?” Arthur asks, having no idea where Guinevere is staying.

“Does it matter?” Merlin mutters out of the side of his mouth, then he nudges Arthur again.

“It's no trouble,” Arthur blurts.

“Well… if you don't mind…” she says, slowly walking over. The breeze picks up and billows the skirt of her dress. A few loose tendrils of hair are also lifted, kissing her neck and cheeks.

“All right. It's settled then,” Morgana chimes in. “Arthur will give Gwen a ride,” she says, edging her voice with a very slight insinuation that they all catch and dutifully, pointedly ignore.

Arthur summons his courage and offers his arm. “My lady,” he says.

Merlin rolls his eyes, but Gwen smiles and takes his arm.

“Thank you,” she says.

 

xXx

 

“So you live in the Caribbean?” Arthur asks after a minute of awkward but charged silence as they walk to his car.

“Yes. My family is originally from there. Um, my grandparents owned a small resort in Turks and Caicos, and when Papa died, my father wanted to go back and help Gran run the place,” she answers. “Thank you,” she adds when he opens her car door for her.

He smiles, closes the door, then walks around to his side. “How long ago was that?” he asks once he's seated. He quietly inhales, noting how the closed environment of the car makes it easier for him to enjoy her unique floral vanilla scent.

“About ten years now. I was close to finishing school, so we stayed in Southampton until I graduated. I went to University on the island,” she answers. His sports car is small and low and he is so close she thinks she can feel the warmth from his body beside her. She knows she has a tendency to talk more when she's flustered, and tonight is no exception. “My younger brother Elyan had to transfer schools, obviously, but he didn't mind,” she continues. “Gran died five years ago, and mum took ill and passed two years after that, so now it's me, Elyan, and Dad running the place. But we're doing fine, and…” she stops and looks over at Arthur. They're at a stoplight and he's simply staring at her. “I'm sorry. I'm rambling.”

“Not at all. It's very interesting,” he reassures her, reaching out to pat her hand. He gets halfway there before he realizes it and withdraws, tightly gripping the gearshift until his knuckles turn white. “I'm sorry about your mum,” he quietly adds.

“Thank you,” she answers. “I… understand that may be something we have in common?” she quietly ventures.

“Yes,” Arthur confirms. “Except my mother died when I was very young. I hardly remember her.”

“I'm so sorry, Arthur,” Guinevere replies, her hand resting lightly on his for just a second. “Do you have any siblings besides Elena?”

“No,” he answers. “Which is just as well; she's a handful,” he chuckles.

“She is really… something,” she giggles. “I mean, I like her, but she's… she's very like Morgana. No filter.”

“If it's in the brain, it's out the mouth,” he supplies, and they are both laughing. He stops again, then turns towards her hotel, wishing it were further away so he can keep talking to her. He's really enjoying their conversation and knows that there likely won't be many opportunities like this tomorrow. “Tell me more about the island,” he says.

“Have you been to the Caribbean?” she asks.

“Always meant to,” he answers. _But now I might have a reason to make a trip._

“It's beautiful. Clear blue water, bright blue skies, it's almost always warm out,” she says, closing her eyes and leaning her head back “The breezes smell like salt water from one direction, flowers from the other. There are flowers _everywhere._ Shoes aren't always required. You can go swimming almost every day.” She opens her eyes. They are parked in the hotel lot and Arthur is just enjoying watching her. “Of course there are the occasional hurricanes. And very large insects. Jellyfish. A very infrequent shark. And I sometimes miss things from here.”

“Like what?” he asks, thinking he would put up with bugs and hurricanes in exchange for optional shoes and warm weather all the time.

“Snow, but _only_ on Christmas day,” she says, giggling a little. “Fish and chips. You know, proper fish and chips. My friends, like Morgana. She's come to visit me a few times, and Skype is a gift from God, but…” she trails off, shrugging lightly. “I'm sorry. You're tired, and I'm keeping you.”

“I'm the one who keeps asking you questions,” Arthur points out, smiling. “It just all sounds so wonderful.”

“You should come sometime,” Guinevere blurts without thinking. “Oh, I—”

“I _do_ need a vacation,” he replies before she can retract her statement. “Haven't had one since I finished University.”

A light smile graces her face and they simply look at one another for a few seconds.

_All I would need to do is lean over and…_

“I should…”

“Yeah…”

“Um… thank you for the lift,” she says, her hand on the handle.

“You're very welcome. I'll walk you in,” he replies.

“Thank you again, but the door's just there. I'll be fine,” she says opening the door. _If you walk me in, I'll invite you up to my room._ “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it,” he responds, tamping down his disappointment. “Sleep well.”

She gives him one more smile, and his disappointment disappears.

One she is safely inside the hotel, he drives out of the lot and heads home, clear on the other side of town.

_Merlin is right. It doesn't matter._


	2. Chapter 2

Guinevere is being exfoliated, coiffed, pedicured and manicured. Morgana had planned a morning of pampering for her bridesmaids while the men did… probably nothing.

Gwen thoroughly enjoys herself, yet finds herself irrationally hoping that Arthur will be pleased the end product. She also finds herself surreptitiously trying to get information about him from Elena.

Finally, Morgana takes pity on her. “No, he doesn't have a girlfriend, and yes, he's straight,” she rather abruptly informed her.

“Who?” Morgause, Morgana's cousin, asks.

“My brother,” Elena volunteers.

“Bloody hell, can nothing be kept quiet?” Gwen asks. She would cover her face with her hands if they weren't busy having silver nail polish applied. Her toes have been painted a shade of pink that is the same basic hue as her burgundy dress but lighter.

“Arthur?” Morgause asks. “Gwen likes Arthur?”

“God, Morgause, you didn't notice them blatantly staring at each other all through dinner last night?” Morgana asks.

“No, because I was busy trying to get that idiot Gwaine to notice me,” she retorts.

“He drove her back to her hotel last night while the rest of us went to the pub,” Elena says. “But they didn't do anything except talk in the car,” she complains.

“I'm sitting right here,” Gwen declares.

“Yes, darling, we know, but you're not _telling_ us anything,” Morgana says.

“Elena just told you everything that actually happened,” Gwen quietly responds. “We talked a little. That's it.”

“He didn't try anything? _You_ didn't try anything?” Morgause asks.

“He offered to walk me inside,” Gwen tries, knowing it sounds lame. “I declined.”

“You _didn't_ take him up on it?” Elena goggles at her. Then she makes an exasperated noise and adds, “You know he is totally into you, too, right? Not only that, but you are literally the first person he has shown any kind of interest in _that way_ in… years. He's turned into a workaholic. Mini Uther, but without the megalomania.”

“Well, now you know why he's single,” Morgana says, half under her breath.

“And I didn't let him walk me in because I was afraid I'd invite him up to my room if he did,” Gwen says, trying to keep her voice low enough for only Morgana to hear.

“What was that?” Elena asks, her expression indicating she heard exactly what Gwen said.

“She has hearing like a bat,” Morgana says. “It's creepy.”

“I heard that,” Elena says.

“I don't care,” Morgana replies. Then she notices Elena's nails. “Really?”

Elena holds up a hand, displaying navy blue fingernails. “What? It goes with burgundy. But you're changing the subject from our little Gwennie deciding to she needs to refrain from seducing Arthur. Which is far more interesting, if slightly gross because he's my brother.”

“ _Step_ brother,” Morgana says.

“Yeah, for the past 15 years. We lived in the same house and we sodding _look_ like we're related anyway. We don't really consider ourselves steps,” Elena explains.

“Arthur is pretty fit though,” Morgause chimes in. “I prefer them tall, _dark_ , and handsome, but I wouldn't throw him out of my bed.”

Elena makes a face, then asks, “Why are you so reluctant? Don't tell me it's that little issue of geography.” She sees in Gwen's face that she's hit on the reason and adds, “He said the same thing, you know.”

“He did?” Gwen asks a little too quickly.

Elena nods. “The good Lord created the Internet for a reason, Gwen.”

 

xXx

 

Merlin texts Arthur while he is eating breakfast.

_How did it go last night?_

_A: Fine. I got her safely back to her hotel, which is of course on the opposite side of town from me._

_M: That's it?_

_A: We talked. She's pretty great._

_M: Yes, she is. But just talking?_

_A: I offered to walk her in, and she said no._

_M: She did??_

_A: It's fine. I don't think she meant to put me off. We were right by the doors, so I would have walked about 20 feet. I mainly offered to show her I am a gentleman._

_M: Right. And not at all because you were hoping she would invite you up to her room._

_A: There may have been an element of that._

Arthur sighs, then sends another text.

_A: I think I would want more than just a one-time fling with her though, so it's probably for the best._

Merlin sends back a heart-eyes emoji. Three of them.

_M: She deserves more than just a fling. She's brilliant. And Morgana would kill you._

_A: Aren't you supposed to be doing wedding things?_

_M: Aren't you supposed to NOT be changing the subject? Morgana says Gwen fancies you, too._

_A: She does?_

_M: Are you dim? She was staring at you as much as you were at her._

Arthur thinks a moment and realizes, yes, she was. _A: I guess I didn't notice._

_M: For a smart bloke, you can be pretty dim. If you're interested, let her know._

_A: You do know basic geography, right?_

_M: You're looking for excuses._

Arthur stares at his phone, his next text typed, his thumb hovering the _Send_ button. He's hesitant, but he knows Merlin is basically the only person to whom he can admit this.

_A: I really like her. More than I've liked anyone in a long time, and it's a little scary._

_M: I know, mate. But you'll have all afternoon and evening with her, so put your big boy pants on, don't worry about the fact that she lives 4000 miles away, and enjoy yourself._

_A: I'll try. If it's meant to be, it'll work out, right?_

_M: Exactly. Now come pick me up and buy me lunch._

 

xXx

 

The only thing Arthur can think is _She looks beautiful._ He is walking towards her in the back of the church, preparing to process. Guinevere is gorgeous and elegant in a burgundy satin strapless gown, her hair down in an artful array of curls with a white flower tucked over her right ear.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers when they meet, the words flying out before he can think about the wisdom of saying them.

“Thank you; you too,” she replies, flashing a bright yet shy smile his way as she takes his arm. He _does_ look beautiful. His tuxedo fits him perfectly, his hair is tousled just so, and he smells intoxicating.

They are almost reluctant to part in the front.

Arthur watches Guinevere as she arranges Morgana's unnecessarily long train for her.

Guinevere watches Arthur as his hand dips into his pocket for the wedding rings.

When Merlin and Morgana kiss, Guinevere risks another peek at Arthur, only to find him already gazing at her with transparent interest. She wonders if she looks as obvious, but discovers she doesn't really care if she does.

The post-wedding activities are a blur. Receiving line, pictures, pictures, pictures, including one of Arthur and Guinevere together during which the photographer gushed about how beautiful they looked together and their “chemistry is off the charts”.

Then more pictures outside and at various locations around town, interspersed with stops in various favorite pubs.

Guinevere keeps telling herself that she is definitely _not_ trying to sit next to Arthur inside the luxury limo bus, but each time they re-board, that's where she finds herself.

Elena and Morgause have been quite obvious about making sure Gwen is seated beside Arthur, too.

The limo is forced to make a sudden stop at one point, and Arthur automatically puts his arm out, protectively bracing Guinevere as she lurches forward.

“Oh!” she exclaims. Gwaine spills his champagne and curses. Morgana tumbles into Merlin, laughing.

“Oh…” Arthur echoes, lifting his arm from across Gwen's body. “Sorry… reflexes…” he stupidly explains.

“It's all right,” Guinevere replies. _Is it ever all right._

“My brother the hero!” Elena proclaims, lifting her plastic champagne flute. “He's very thoughtful,” she adds. “Sometimes.”

Guinevere and Arthur both glare at her, Arthur's being slightly harsher. “Would you like some champagne?” he quietly asks Gwen.

“No, thank you. I'll have some later,” she answers. “I'd probably wind up spilling it on my gown,” she adds with a nervous giggle.

He smiles, her self-deprecating words somehow further endearing her to him. _She's beautiful, smart, witty, sexy, and adorable. And she smells amazing._

“Thank you,” she says. Arthur's eyes widen, wondering how much he said aloud. “It's a scented lotion I brought from home. Handcrafted by a local merchant.”

 _Oh good, it was just the smelling good part._ “Vanilla and… something else. Some kind of flower?” he asks, trying to resist the urge to lean in close and inhale deeply. Oblivious to the activities around them, he just wants to bury his nose in her neck, surrounded by her hair.

“White ginger with just a touch of lavender,” she says, unconsciously leaning closer to him. “You smell really good too. I noticed it yesterday.”

“Thank you. I wish I could tell you it was something fancy and exotic like yours, but it's just… um… Old Spice,” he says, chuckling.

“Nothing wrong with that,” she answers.

“Elena likes to hassle me because apparently I should be using more expensive personal care products,” he says. “I don't see the point when there are so many good quality things available that aren't needlessly posh.”

Guinevere nods. “Absolutely. If I'm paying £35 for a skin cream, it had better also clean my flat while I'm away.”

Arthur laughs loudly, and a brief hush falls over the crowd in the limo as all heads turn in their direction. It only lasts a second, and the chatter quickly rises again. _She's funny, too._ He turns slightly towards her. “Guinevere…”

“We're here! Everyone off the bus!” Merlin announces as the limo comes to a stop.

After that, it's another whirlwind of activity, and there aren't any more quiet moments for a while.

 

xXx

 

“We need the rest of the wedding party on the dance floor,” the deejay announces. Merlin and Morgana had just finished their first dance together, and now it is time for the rest of the wedding party to join in.

Arthur, who had been waiting for this, wanting nothing more than to hold Guinevere in his arms, made a beeline for her. She is already standing at the edge of the dance floor, chatting with Elena, who smirks when she sees her brother's single-minded approach.

“Make me proud,” she murmurs to Gwen, then heads over towards Gwaine.

“What?” Gwen asks, confused, looking at the back of Elena's blonde head.

“Guinevere.” Arthur's voice immediately draws her attention away from Elena.

 _Bloody hell, he says my name like he's making love to it._ “Hello, Arthur,” she answers. He offers his arm, and she loops her hand in the crook of his elbow, the position now very familiar to both of them.

They wait while the deejay introduces the others. “And now the best man and maid of honor, Arthur Pendragon and Guinevere Lee… Lee-oh-da-grance?”

Gwen rolls her eyes, familiar with people tripping over her name, if not bungling it completely. “I did tell him how to say it!” Morgana calls, making Gwen (and others) laugh.

The music starts a minute later, and Guinevere's right hand falls easily into Arthur's left, her other hand landing on his shoulder while his wraps around her narrow waist.

“You're shorter,” Arthur observes, looking down at her.

“I changed shoes,” she answers. “I can't wear three-inch heels all night long. I'm not accustomed to it.”

“Because where you live, shoes aren't always required,” he replies, smiling.

“Exactly. I wear flip-flops most of the time. Including now,” she tells him with a small laugh. She kicks one foot out from beneath her dress, showing him her foot with its fresh pedicure, clad in a bejeweled black flip-flop.

“I see you brought your best ones,” he observes, noting how even her feet are pretty.

“Hey, these are new. I bought them special for the reception,” she says. Idly, she wonders if he'll ever get back to whatever he was about to say to her in the limo bus right when they got here. That was over an hour ago now, and she hasn't forgotten the look on his face, the softness of his blue eyes.

He's still looking at her that way, so she takes it as a good sign.

His hand shifts a bit on her back, and she unconsciously moves a little closer to him. She likes being in his arms. Likes being this close to him.

“The ceremony was nice,” she says.

“Was it? I really wasn't paying attention,” he admits. She looks up at him and he says, “I was too distracted by—”

“My turn!” The song ends and Morgana appears at the worst moment to cut in. But instead of dancing with Arthur, she grabs Gwen and dances away with her.

Arthur turns and finds himself facing Merlin, who is staring after his new wife and her best friend. “Sod it all,” Arthur says and grabs Merlin's hand.

“You could at least let me lead,” Merlin protests.

“Nope. Don't think so,” Arthur answers. “Not after your _wife_ just interrupted me when I was about to say something to Guinevere.” Merlin makes a perplexed face, Arthur sighs, and explains, “I was going to pass her a note saying 'Do you like me? Check Yes or No'. Clear enough for you?”

“Oh!” Merlin exclaims. “Sorry, mate. If she knew, I'm sure she'd be very sorry.”

“She's probably telling Guinevere all manner of terrible things about me,” Arthur says.

“Doubtful. And besides, Gwen's been with your sister all day and she hasn't managed to poison your name, so I wouldn't give up hope,” Merlin points out. “In fact, I think Elena rather supports the idea of you and Gwen becoming a Thing.”

Arthur shrugs and glances over at his sister, who is now dancing with Will. She must have passed Gwaine to Morgause, which would undoubtedly make Morgause quite happy. His eyes scan the dance floor until he finds Guinevere again. She's looking over at him as well and he offers her a small smile, hoping she catches the unspoken promise. _We have unfinished business._

 

xXx

 

Another hour passes and then some. The cake is cut, bouquets and garters are thrown (and caught by Elena and a coworker of Morgana's called Percival, who only caught it because he is a giant. Elena nearly fainted when she saw him and realized she was going to have to – get to – dance with him), and some of the older guests have begun to leave, including Merlin's Uncle Gaius and Arthur and Elena's fathers.

The dance floor and the bar are both busy. People are having a wonderful time.

And Arthur can't find Guinevere. He promised himself that he would ask her to dance on the next slow song, and had been keeping an eye on her whereabouts so he can easily find her when the time comes.

Only now the time has come and she's gone. “Did Guinevere go to the ladies'?” he asks Morgana, no longer caring if he's being obvious.

“She might have done,” Morgana answers. “Or try the balcony. She might have gone to get some air.” A moment later she adds, “You'd have some privacy and quiet out there, you know.”

“Helpful advice from the woman who literally stole my opportunity earlier tonight?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Merlin told me! I'm so sorry about that!” she exclaims. “And now you're wasting time. Go find her.” She lightly pushes Arthur, then grabs the passing Gwaine and drags him to the dance floor.

He decides to check the balcony first, reasoning that if she was in the loo, he wouldn't be able to see her anyway. Also ambushing someone when they've just been to the toilet isn't very romantic.

She is standing alone, gazing up at an almost-full moon, bathed in silvery light.

He walks up on what he thinks are silent feet, but she hears him and turns.

“Arthur,” she says, a slight smile on her face.

“I was worried you'd snuck out on me,” he replies.

“I just came out for some fresh air and quiet,” she answers, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Are you cold?” he asks, stepping closer.

“A bit. I know this is very nice weather for you, but I've become acclimated to the tropics, so I get cold more easily,” she says, fearing she's rambling again.

Arthur removes his jacket and holds it out, offering it to her. “Please,” he says.

She hesitates a moment, then slips her arms into sleeves that are much too long. “Thank you,” she says. She ducks her nose into the collar. “Old Spice,” she comments, eyes twinkling.

He chuckles, then joins her at the railing overlooking a large, well-manicured garden. “I've been trying to tell you all evening how beautiful you are,” he says, deciding to waste no more time.

She shyly looks down. “You told me at the ceremony,” she quietly says.

“Ah, I told you then that you _look_ beautiful,” he clarifies. He turns to face her, then reaches up and gently lifts her chin. “Now I am telling you that you _are_ beautiful. Not because of the gown and the hair and the makeup. Because of you.” Her wide brown eyes bore into him, and he adds, “I'm incredibly attracted to you, Guinevere.” His thumb traces the edge of her jaw as he speaks and Guinevere wonders how she is still managing to stand upright. “But I'm not exactly sure what to do about it.”

She raises her hand and places it over his, lightly pressing his palm to her cheek. “I feel the same way,” she softly admits, closing her eyes for a moment. She opens them and looks up at him. “Why don't we…” she pauses, biting her lower lip.

“What?” Arthur asks, his free hand landing on her hip as she moves closer.

Guinevere isn't sure if she should say what she's thinking. It's not at all like her, but she's afraid that she'll regret throwing away this chance, even if it is only a one-time thing. “I don't want you to think I'm normally like this, because I'm not, but… I think we should just… enjoy what time we have.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a very sexy half-smile as he further crowds her personal space. “You mean like we just ignore the fact that you live 4000 miles away and,” he pauses, no longer able to resist the temptation of her lips, now so close, and lightly brushes them with his, “make the best and,” he kisses her again, “most _productive_ use of this night?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, then surges up against him, pressing her lips to his, done with his soft, teasing kisses. Her hand strays into his hair, tousling it as their tongues slide luxuriously against each other.

 _She tastes as good as she smells._ Arthur pulls her tight against him, her small, slender form fitting into the spaces of his body just perfectly. He moves one hand upwards, and groans low in his throat when his fingers make contact with the silken skin of her back above her dress.

“Please don't think less of me,” she gasps, tearing her lips away. “I am normally a very good girl… I've never done anything like th—”

He stops what was surely to become another ramble with his lips, kissing away her words. “I know,” he says once she relaxes again. “Even if Merlin and Morgana hadn't already extolled your numerous virtues in my presence… I think I would know.” He kisses her again, briefly, but passionately. “I don't do things like this either, for what it's worth.”

“I know,” she answers. “Elena told me.” She gently tries to pull away, and he holds her.

“No,” he pouts, kissing her again.

“We should,” kiss, “go back in,” kiss. “You're incorrigible.” She surrenders.

“I have not yet begun to corridge,” he answers, nuzzling her nose, then kissing her again.

“That's not a word,” she murmurs against his lips.

“Don't care,” he answers, and they lose themselves in one another again.

“We can talk out—oh!” Elena's voice and surprised exclamation startles Arthur and Guinevere, but they don't leap apart like guilty teenagers. They look over to see Elena with Percival, and all four are blushing.

“Be our guest,” Arthur finally says, releasing his hold on Guinevere but taking her hand. “Nice night for it,” he says, smirking at his stepsister. “Whatever _it_ is you are looking to do,” he mutters as he passes her.

“You would know,” Elena tosses over her shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

The reception is finally winding down, and Arthur calls one of their family's drivers to come and pick him up.

“Just you, Mr. Pendragon?” George asks.

Arthur glances across the hall at Guinevere, who is saying goodbye to Merlin and Morgana. “Myself and a companion,” he replies.

To George's credit, if he is surprised, he doesn't show it. “Very good. I presume then I should send a second car for Miss Gawant?”

“Let me find out.” Arthur moves his face from his phone. “Elena! Do you need a car?”

Elena looks up from her task of putting her number in Percival's mobile while he adds his info to hers and says, “Yes, thanks.”

“Yes, she does,” Arthur tells George. He sees Percival bend down and kiss his stepsister on the cheek and it makes him smile a little.

“Very good, sir. I will be there shortly.”

Arthur gives a few more instructions, then concludes with, “Thanks, George.”

 

xXx

 

“You have a driver?” Guinevere asks, watching as two sleek black Rolls Royces pull into the lot. “ _Two_ drivers,” she amends.

“My family has drivers, not me personally,” Arthur explains, texting Elena to come outside. “Come,” he says, taking Gwen's hand and leading her to the first car.

As the driver opens the rear door for them, Elena emerges from the building, waves, then walks to the second car. “Don't do anything I wouldn't,” she calls, grinning cheekily.

“ _Is_ there anything?” Guinevere asks Arthur, who merely shrugs.

“Probably not. At least nothing relevant,” he answers, sliding into the soft leather seat beside her. He tells the driver the name of Guinevere's hotel, and they begin moving.

“Was my hotel really on your way home last night?” she asks.

“Not in the slightest,” he answers. “In fact, it was downright inconvenient,” he adds, trying not to laugh as she playfully swats his shoulder.

They had spent the rest of the reception together, turning down all other requests to dance except from Merlin's mother and Morgana's father. Every slow dance found them in each other's arms, talking quietly, faces close together.

The more they got to know one another, the more they liked one another. The more they began falling a little bit in love with each other.

She doesn’t ask him to come to her hotel. He doesn’t ask if he can come to her hotel. It is just understood that they will be spending the night together, especially since Guinevere has a 9 a.m. flight the next day.

“Come over here,” he says, tugging her hand.

“Seat belt, Arthur,” she answers, smiling. “Safety is important, you know—oh!” She dissolves into giggles as he unbuckles his seat belt and slides over to her, burying his head in her neck and peppering it with kisses. “Arthur!” she exclaims, still laughing. “That tickles!”

He lifts his head. “Oh really?” he asks, eyebrow raised. Then he dives back in

“No!” she shrieks, weak with laughter as he nuzzles and nips her neck. Finally, she gets the idea to grab his face and pull it up to hers, encouraging him to kiss her lips instead.

It works, and he softly groans, his focus shifting. He takes his time kissing her, his lips soft and slow against hers, his tongue teasing.

Neither of them notice the car coming to and staying at a stop. After a minute, George politely clears his throat.

“Oh. We're here,” Arthur says, moving away from her so she can unbuckle her seatbelt.

“So we are,” Guinevere replies.

George opens the door, and they climb out.

“Thank you, George,” Arthur says. “Please arrange to have my car here no later than 6:30. I'd like to drive Miss Leodegrance to the airport myself.”

“Of course, sir,” George replies. “Miss,” he nods at Guinevere.

“Thank you,” she replies. She thinks she probably should feel awkward, because the driver obviously knows what she and Arthur are up to, but she just doesn't. George is clearly a consummate professional and is paid very well to do his job and not pass judgment on his employer's activities.

George nods, then goes to the back of the car and withdraws a garment bag, which he hands to Arthur. “As you requested.”

“Thank you,” Arthur takes the bag. He looks at Guinevere's surprised face and gives her a sheepish smile and half-shrug. “Well, what's the point in being privileged if you don't use it once in a while, right?”

She laughs again. “That's actually really smart,” she says, taking his arm as they walk to the hotel. “Doing the Walk of Shame is one thing; doing it in a tuxedo is quite another.”

“Yeah, that's not obvious at all, hey?” he chuckles.

They reach the lift, and she presses the button. It arrives empty and they stand side by side in heavy silence.

“I never do anything remotely close to this,” Guinevere quietly says as the lift begins to move.

“Guinevere,” Arthur replies, turning to face her, “I don't care what we do tonight. I just want to be where you are for as long as I can.” He reaches up and caresses her cheek. He knows what he _wants_ to spend the night doing with her, but if she wants to sit up watching crap late-night television, he'll be perfectly content to do that.

She grants him a soft smile, slowly blinking up at him. “Thank you, Arthur. It means a lot to hear you say that,” she says. The doors open and they step out. When they reach her door, she fishes her key card out of the small bag she has and says, “But I'm not going to waste this night just talking, or watching telly, or… sleeping.” She quickly turns towards the door and unlocks it, hoping to hide her flushed cheeks.

He follows her inside and absently reaches his hand out to hang his garment bag on the rack. He misses, and the bag drops to the floor. He doesn't even notice, stopping behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders.

She closes her eyes and feels him move her hair aside before pressing his lips to the side of her neck. She raises one hand to cover his, guiding it to the collar of his tuxedo jacket, which she is still wearing. He takes the hint and lifts it from her shoulders, returning to press a kiss to her shoulder as soon as the jacket is set aside.

She turns around just as his hands start making their way to the zipper on the back of her dress, leaving his hands hovering in mid-air. She slyly smiles, as if she knows exactly what she interrupted, and reaches for the cufflink at his wrist, freeing it from his cuff.

He returns her smile, content to wait, happy to let her undress him. He leans down and steals a kiss just before she removes the second cufflink and sets them both on the dresser. His tie was discarded hours ago, so she starts on his shirt buttons while he yanks his feet from his shoes.

Arthur's hands are not exactly idle while she opens his buttons, resting on her waist for a second before sliding up, then down, memorizing the delicious curves of her body. He startles slightly when her hands drop to his belt, unbuckling it, then opening the button on his trousers to more easily untuck his shirt.

“Jumpy?” she asks, biting her lower lip.

“I was distracted,” he answers, boldly moving one hand up to skim the side of her breast as she pushes his shirt off of his shoulders. He yanks it the rest of the way off, then quickly removes his undershirt as well.

“Nice.” She bites her lip again, obviously not having intended to speak her thought aloud. Her hand moves up, wanting to touch, and when she hesitates, he takes it and presses her palm to his chest, over his heart.

He doesn't call attention to her embarrassment, instead coaxing her caught lower lip out with his own lips until she forgets why she felt silly at all. He moves his hand but hers stays there and begins to rove a little when his hand moves back to her breast, this time covering it.

“Oh…” she softly gasps, and when her fingers tug his zipper down and his trousers fall, she has an important thought. “Arthur, do you have… you know… protection? I'm on the pill, but with the travel and the time change, I don't feel comfortable trusting it, so if we need to go down to the sh—mm.”

He kisses her again, stopping her ramble. “In my bag,” he says. “One second.”

She watches as he steps out of the puddle of his trousers, sets them with the rest of his clothes, and quickly walks to where his garment bag is in a heap on the floor. He picks it up and hangs it properly, then briefly fishes inside before withdrawing a small box.

“Oh good, you have more than one,” Guinevere blurts, then covers her mouth with her hand, eyes wide.

Arthur laughs. _She is so adorable._ “I was an excellent Boy Scout,” he simply says, placing the box on the nightstand before returning to her, completely at ease clad only in his black boxer briefs. “I believe I was interrupted just before I was about to do this,” he says, finally lowering her zipper.

Beneath her dress she is wearing a simple black satin bustier with matching panties. Very small panties. He stares down at the beautiful, soft roundness of her rear end, at a loss for words. When she bends down to retrieve the heap of satin around her knees, his hand reaches forward and touches the warm, silken skin.

She jumps in surprise, and nearly falls over, her feet still caught in her dress. He catches her, but they tumble anyway, thankfully landing on the bed.

“Well, that was awkward,” Arthur says, laughing.

“That's what happens when you go surprising a girl that way,” she answers, smiling down at him. Before she can kiss him, he reaches up and plucks the white flower still tucked in her hair.

“Oh, it's silk,” he observes. “I was wondering how it wasn't wilted yet.” He sets it on the nightstand. “How does this come off?” he asks, sliding his hands over the bustier.

“There are hooks in the front,” she says, sliding off of him and sitting up, her back to him.

He rolls to his side, propping his head up on his hand to watch.

Guinevere's head is bowed as she unfastens the tiny hooks. As the bustier starts to loosen and pull away from her body, Arthur sits up more, scooting closer behind her. His hand lands on her hip and he begins kissing her shoulder. Her hair is soft and cool against his cheek, and he indulges himself by nosing into her curls to kiss the back of her neck.

He doesn't even notice that the bustier is fully open until he feels her take the hand resting on her hip and moving it up.

“Oh…” he groans against her skin, his fingers flexing into soft mound. He feels her nipple tighten beneath his palm and skims his hand over it, drawing a soft moan from her lips. He latches onto the side of her neck in a wet, open-mouthed kiss, his other hand moving around her body to her other breast.

“You're on the wrong side,” she says, leaning back against him for a moment before turning around to face him.

Even in the dim light from the small desk lamp, she can see how his eyes darken with desire when he sees her.

“How are you real?” he asks, then yanks the covers back on the bed and pulls her with him to the pillows. “When I saw you yesterday,” he continues, kissing her, “I thought you looked like a tropical goddess.”

“I thought you were the most beautiful man I had ever seen,” she confesses, her fingers finding the waistband of his underwear, sliding inside and shoving them down.

“That's new,” he murmurs. “I've never been called 'beautiful' before,” he says, lifting his head. He shoves his boxer briefs the rest of the way off, then pulls a condom out of the box and setting it within reach.

“Pity,” she answers, lifting her hips to allow him to remove her panties.

He kisses her hipbone, then looks down at her, drinking her in, trying to memorize every delicious curve, dip, and freckle. He bends down and kisses a beauty mark between her breasts. “You _are_ a goddess,” he says, kissing a path to her nipple, which he sucks into his mouth.

Guinevere softly gasps, her fingers running into his hair while he lavishes attention on her, moving from one breast to the other. She moves her hips, pressing up against him, then slips her hand between them to grasp his length.

Arthur groans when her soft, strong fingers wrap around him, his own fingers trailing down her body, lightly tickling until they find their target. “Oh, you're so wet,” he murmurs, his lips on her neck.

“I've been… that way since the… balcony,” she admits, her speech erratic because of what his fingers are doing to her.

He groans again, then pulls her thighs around his hips. “I can't wait anymore,” he confesses, leaning down to kiss her once before quickly opening and rolling the condom over his length.

“Yeah,” she agrees. She guides him into place and he easily slides in, fully sheathing himself inside her warmth.

“God,” he huskily exclaims, his eyes closing for a moment, then opening to gaze down at her.

“Kiss me,” she says, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

He obliges without a word, bending down to claim her lips. He begins thrusting as well, his hips moving in concert with his tongue.

One hand cups her breast, his thumb lightly rubbing her nipple. She grips his shoulders, then moves one hand to his chest while the other is back in his hair, lightly holding his head as he kisses her lips, jaw, and neck.

“Guinevere,” he grunts out her name, his thrusts increasing in speed and intensity.

Her reply is a hoarse “Oh!” as she clings to him, rapidly approaching her peak. He feels so good inside her. So good over her. She can't remember the last time she felt like this with anyone. If she ever has.

“Oh, I'm…”

“Me too…”

Arthur kisses her, hungrily, deeply, until she tears her lips away to cry out her orgasm.

He tumbles after her, his body taut as he releases into her. He is bent over her, his face pressed into her neck. He slowly deflates over her, his body relaxing as he comes down. He's a little shaken by how intense it was; not just the orgasm, but the entire experience.

“Am I crushing you?” he asks, knowing he likely is.

“A bit, but it's all right,” she answers, lightly raking her fingers through his hair.

He indulges himself another few seconds of her attention, then kisses her neck and rolls to the side to clean himself up. Then he reaches out and caresses her face, unable to form the appropriate words to convey what he's thinking. Feeling. Everything seems inadequate or corny. And “I love you” is too overwhelming, though it could very well be accurate.

“At the risk of sounding ridiculous, that was incredible,” Guinevere says, turning her face to kiss his palm.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Arthur admits, leaning over to kiss her lips. “And I want more,” he murmurs, then sets about fulfilling his earlier urge to kiss each one of her freckles.

He succeeds and then some.

 

xXx

 

Arthur blinks awake to find Guinevere spooned in front of him, warm and soft and perfect in his arms. He slowly smiles, remembering the time spent before they finally succumbed to sleep. How amazing it was. How amazing _she_ was. Is.

How she drove him nearly mad with her lips on his cock. The beautiful little moans and cries and gasps that escaped her when he returned the favor, dipping his head and tasting her. The way they made slow, sweet love after, behaving like a couple deeply in love rather than one who had just met slightly more than 24 hours ago.

He presses a soft kiss to the back of her head, then quietly slips out of bed, deciding to pay a visit to the loo while he's awake. He checks the time. 3:42 a.m.

As he exits the bathroom, he notices some papers on the desk, illuminated in the beam of light shining out of the door. It looks like her travel itinerary.

Curious, he walks over and picks it up. It's her return flight reservation and itinerary. A sudden idea occurs to him, and he pads over to grab his phone.

He brings the paper into the bathroom and snaps a shot of the information, then sends it to his assistant, Leon. He taps out a quick text with instructions, then returns the sheet to the desk where he found it. _I hope she won't mind._

Arthur flips the light off and heads back to bed, more awake than he would like to be. Guinevere has turned onto her back in the center of the bed, hogging the mattress. He stares down at her a moment, at how she looks so beautifully free of care. She moves, throwing an arm up over her head, shifting the blankets in the process so a large portion of one breast is showing.

He then decides he's wasting precious time being awake without her, and carefully lowers himself to the bed. He kisses her shoulder, then her neck. He keeps them gentle, not wanting to wake her _too_ quickly. He moves higher and kisses her just below her ear, which draws a small sigh from her.

Then he trails lower, nosing the blankets out of the way as he works his way to her breasts. When he swirls his tongue around her nipple, she sighs again, and when he closes his lips around it, she murmurs his name.

“Arthur…” Her hand lands on his head, fingers curling into his hair. “What time is it?”

He lifts his head. “Around four-ish, I think,” he says, pulling her into his arms and kissing her.

“Why are you awake?” she asks, then moans when his hand goes wandering.

“Why _aren't_ you?” he counters, slowly seducing her into wakefulness. He gently bites her neck and asks, “Aren't you the one who said you weren't going waste time sleeping?”

“That was before I actually fell aslee—oh, do that again,” she answers, tilting her hips into his hand.

 

xXx

 

“What?” Guinevere asks, staring at the unnaturally cheerful man behind the counter.

“Your ticket has been upgraded to first class, Miss Leodegrance,” the man, whose nametag reads _JOSHUA,_ repeats, peering at the screen. “It appears it was changed very early this morning. You didn't change it?”

“No, but I think I know who might have done,” she says, biting her lower lip.

Guinevere thinks back to the morning. After their four a.m. interlude, they fell back to sleep until six. _He showered with me, so it couldn't have been then… We were together until the very last possible moment, until the cars behind us in the drop off zone started honking._

She's never been more reluctant to go home before, and it's all because of Arthur Pendragon. She pulls her phone out and sends a quick text. The reply comes almost immediately.

_I hope you're not mad. I wanted you to have a comfortable flight home since I kept you up last night._

“Miss?”

“It's fine. Mystery solved,” she declares.

“You're certain? Because if not, we have to involve Security,” he says.

“I'm sure. It was the work of an over-indulgent… friend,” she settles on, not knowing what to call him. They exchanged all the important details: Mobile numbers, Skype names, Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram, Twitter, and promised to stay in touch, but they never put any sort of definition on what they are to each other.

He kissed her goodbye like he loves her. She kissed him back the same way.

“That's quite a 'friend' you've got there,” Joshua says, breaking into her thoughts. He hands her her boarding pass.

Guinevere smiles and can feel her cheeks heat and color. “Yes, he is,” she answers, knowing that Arthur would have paid an exorbitant amount for such a last-minute change. “Thank you.”

As she turns to walk away, she hears him mutter, “I need to find a friend like that.”


	4. Chapter 4

As much as Arthur and Guinevere intended to stay in touch, it proved difficult. Uther keeps Arthur ridiculously busy, so most of the time he doesn't get a chance to look through Guinevere's social media posts and messages until very late at night or very early in the morning.

Guinevere isn't any less busy. Their small resort isn't terribly busy, but her father's health has started to decline, so he's officially put her in charge of things. To further complicate matters, Elyan has decided to follow his heart and pursue the career he wants in sports medicine, which means he's gone back to school. In Miami. Luckily, she has an excellent and trustworthy staff, and the resort is not overbooked (quite far from it, which is another concern), but it doesn't make her life any less hectic. Most of her communications to Arthur consist of photos she takes of things around the island. He always asks her for selfies, but she only complies sometimes, preferring to be behind the lens instead of in front of it.

The five-hour time difference doesn't help much, either. They've managed to have a few Skype “dates” that mostly involved Guinevere eating breakfast while Arthur has lunch or Guinevere having lunch while Arthur eats dinner.

They have never defined what their relationship is, but neither of them see anyone else, despite the fact that Guinevere has had plenty of offers and Arthur routinely attends events to which most people bring a date. He always goes alone, to the irritation of his father and the confusion of the paparazzi (especially considering he _used_ to bring dates). Society and gossip pages constantly speculate on Arthur's sudden, stubborn commitment to bachelorhood, with speculation ranging from “he's secretly married” to “he's asexual”. None have come up with the truth: his heart belongs only to his tropical goddess 4000 miles away.

 

xXx

 

Summer ends and fall drapes over London like a thick gray blanket made of Cold. It's rainy and miserable all the time. Or at least it seems so.

Arthur's patience with his father and Pendragon Industries snaps with the advent of cold weather, and one day he finds himself packing up his office and walking out in something of a euphoric daze. Once home, he silences his mobile and immediately starts searching for airline tickets.

A week later, he steps off of a plane, blinking in the bright sunlight as he gropes for his sunglasses. As he rides in a taxi to the Angelfish Resort, he begins to worry.

_I should have told her I was coming._

_What if she doesn't want me anymore?_

_Ugh why did I think surprising her was a good idea?_

The resort isn't the biggest or most extravagant hotel in the area, but it appears to be very well-tended and is spotlessly clean. The bellman attends him immediately, ushering him inside.

“Welcome to the Angelfish,” a middle-aged woman greets from behind the counter. “Do you… have a reservation?” she asks. She appears slightly puzzled and Arthur realizes it must be because she knows he doesn't.

_There must not be anyone with a reservation due in today._ He remembers the few things Guinevere has mentioned about business being low, and frowns a little before granting the desk clerk a charming smile.

“No, I don't,” he answers, removing his sunglasses. He folds them and hangs them on the neck of his shirt, clasping his hands on the counter. “I thought I'd roll the dice on your having a room,” he looks at her nametag, “Jewel.” Then he smiles at her.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Well, Mister…”

“Pendragon,” he supplies, his eyes darting around the lobby, looking for glimpses of Guinevere.

“Mr. Pendragon, it just so happens we have several rooms available,” she answers, not looking terribly happy about this fact.

“Excellent,” he says. “I'll take the best one you have.”

“Oh,” Jewel softly exclaims, checking her computer. “For how many nights?”

“Ah. Hmm. I'm not sure,” Arthur answers.

She peers up at him over the top of her reading glasses. “How can you not be sure?”

He sighs. “It might be one night. It might be quite a while. It really depends on someone else.”

“I need to put _something_ down,” she says, losing patience with this strange white Englishman.

“Perhaps you can help me then,” he says. “I'm actually here to see Guinevere Leodegrance.”

Jewel stares at him. She takes her glasses off, letting them dangle from their chain around her neck, and looks at him again. Her eyes widen. “You _are_ him! She showed me pictures of you.”

Arthur's eyebrows rise, hope daring to sprout in his chest. “She did?” he asks.

“You're better looking in person, boy,” she appraises. “You really did a number on Miss Gwen's heart, you did,” she adds. “She hasn't been on one date since she got back from that Morgana gal's wedding.”

He smiles, the tiny sprout of hope growing into a full bloom. “I'm hoping to surprise her,” he says. “And…”

“How long you stay depends on how she receives your surprise,” she finishes, nodding. “Let me ask you this: how long do _you_ want to stay?”

“For as long as she'll have me,” he answers, looking Jewel straight in the eyes.

“All right then,” she replies with a definitive nod, and Arthur decides he must have given the correct answer. “Miss Gwen ain't here right now.”

“When do you expect her back?”

Jewel looks at the clock. “Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. She's giving a tour to an older couple from Minnesota.”

Arthur knows tours are one of the services they provide, and knows Guinevere often gives them, so he is not surprised. “Can I wait here?” he asks, pointing to a grouping of couches and chairs in the lobby.

“Of course,” she answers. “You got an awfully small suitcase for a man who wants to stay indefinitely,” she observes.

“I'll have the rest sent. If I even want it,” he answers, then sits in an upholstered wicker chair. In the short time since he has left his father's company, he's noticed a definite shift in his priorities.

A few minutes later, Jewel walks over with a bottle of water and sets it on the end table beside him. “Here you go, Sugar,” she says, pats his shoulder, then heads back to the desk.

“Thank you,” he answers, smiling. _I seem to have won over Miss Jewel at least._

Arthur sends Merlin a text while he waits, letting him know he's arrived safely and is currently waiting for Guinevere to return to the resort. Merlin's reply is succinct.

_You are crazy, but good luck to you._

He also has a text from Uther which he reads but doesn't answer right now. The heated conversation they had three days prior is still fresh in his mind. Uther said a few things that could not be un-said, and Arthur needs some time before he can be civil again.

He is just finishing catching up on his Words With Friends games when he hears her laughter. His head snaps sharply up, and he catches Jewel in his periphery, moving to a better viewing spot behind the desk. He doesn't care. _Let her watch. Probably the most excitement she's had all month, from the looks of things._

“…grew up in the UK actually. My family is originally from here, and we moved back here when I was…” Guinevere's voice trails off as she sees Arthur standing in the middle of her lobby, his face solemn and hopeful. “…eighteen,” she dumbly finishes, her voice suddenly breathy. “Excuse me,” she says, glancing at her guests.

The couple quickly figure out what is going on and nod, saying, “Oh, of course, please,” as they stand there and watch along with Jewel and the bellman, who has also wandered inside.

Guinevere takes a couple halting steps towards Arthur, and he moves out from the middle of the furniture.

“Surprise?” he ventures.

A moment later she launches herself at him, and he easily catches her, wrapping his arms around her body and lifting her off her feet as he tucks his face into her neck, deeply inhaling the scent of her. Her hair tickles his face but he welcomes it; her arms around his neck are almost choking him but he doesn't care. She's in his arms again.

They loosen their grasp on one another just enough to crash their lips together in a messy kiss, salty and wet with tears neither of them realize they were shedding.

“What are you doing here?” she finally asks, her hands cupping his face, thumbs idly wiping his cheeks.

“I…” The words are gone. He kisses her once more and tries again. “I missed you,” he says. It's inadequate.

“I missed you, too,” she replies. “I missed you so much.” Then she realizes he's probably staying for a week, maybe two, and throws her arms around him again, hugging him tightly.

“Oh!” he exclaims, wrapping his arms around her. “What's this?”

“I'm so happy you're here, but… how long are you staying?” she asks. “A week?” She leans her head back and sheepishly adds, “Two?”

He gently extracts himself from her arms, holding her hands in his. “How long do you want me to stay?” he asks, kissing her knuckles.

“It's unfair of me to give you the answer I want to give,” she says.

“Try me,” he presses. The seriousness of his expression gives her pause, and she forgets to breathe for a few seconds.

Guinevere looks down, then to the side. She notices Jewel and the others watching like they wish they had popcorn, and decides to ignore them. “I don't want you to ever leave,” she whispers.

Arthur's face breaks into a broad grin and he jubilantly kisses her, lifting her off of her feet again.

The four onlookers cheer, and Arthur and Gwen break apart, slightly embarrassed.

“But… how? I mean, your job… your father,” Guinevere asks, taking his hand and leading him to her office and some privacy.

“I quit,” he simply answers. “I realized that I was living _his_ life, not mine. That the life I had been living wasn't what I wanted.”

She closes the door and leans against it, facing him. “What is it you want, Arthur?” she asks.

“You,” he replies. Then he traps her body against the door and kisses her.

Guinevere melts into the kiss, able to fully abandon herself to it now that they don't have an audience. But when his fingers start working the skirt of her sundress up, she puts her hand over his. “Arthur,” she gasps.

“Does your door lock?” he asks, undeterred, his lips on her neck.

“Yes, but…” she trails off, momentarily distracted. She feels his hand on the skin of her thigh and regroups. “Arthur. The walls are very thin, and I'd bet money Jewel and Deniz are right outside listening,” she whispers, pushing him away from the door.

He relents, understanding her need to maintain a level of professionalism. “I'm sorry,” he apologizes, kissing her forehead, then resting his against it. “Three months is a long time,” he says.

“I know,” she agrees. A slow, wicked smile crosses her face. “And the one Skype call we had… where you stayed up till 2 a.m. so we could…”

He groans and kisses her. “Oh yeah…” he says, remembering that naughty little episode and wishing there could have been more of them. “The time difference was the worst,” he says.

“Can we sit?” she asks. Her office doesn't have much by way of furniture: a desk with a chair, a filing cabinet, and another chair.

He nods, and watches as she walks around and sits behind the desk. He takes a seat in the other chair. “I feel like I'm in the Headmistress' office,” he says. “Am I in trouble, Headmistress?”

She laughs. “Still incorrigible.” She takes a deep breath and just looks at him. _He's really here._ “Tell me what happened.”

Arthur sighs heavily and leans back in his chair. Then the words start falling out of him, how he felt like his father's puppet, how he didn't feel like he was doing anything that was _worth_ anything, how he began to hate himself. And how much he missed her. How thinking of her made his dull existence seem like it was worth something. How he lived for every tiny text, photo, and emoji she sent him, even if he couldn't always reply as quickly as he would have liked.

“And that's just the thing, Guinevere. My priorities were all buggered up. I was putting things that made me miserable before things that made me happy.” He scoots his chair closer to her desk and stretches his arms across it, asking for her hands. She willingly gives them, waiting for him to continue. “I know we were together for just over 24 hours, and have been very nearly like passing ships for three months, but the thing is…” He skates his thumbs over her knuckles and says, “I love you, Guinevere. I love you and if you're here, then this is where I want to be.”

She jumps up and leans across the desk, knocking a few things over in the process as she stretches over to kiss him. “I love you, too,” she whispers, then kisses him again.

“I knew it when I dropped you off at the airport,” he admits, guiding her around the desk to come sit on his lap. “But I didn't think it would be fair to say it then. And also I didn't want to freak you out.”

She giggles, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You just decided to show your love by upgrading my airline ticket, that's all,” she says. He nods, and she adds, “You wouldn't have freaked me out at all, either, because I felt the same way.”

“You did?” he asks, looking down at her.

She nods, snuggling against his chest. “I probably should be working, you know.”

“Possibly,” he answers. He traces her cheek with a finger. “God, is it possible that you've gotten more beautiful?” he idly asks.

“No,” she laughs, sitting up. “So what do you plan on doing here anyway?”

“Well, I have a very significant amount of money from when my mum died, so I can be a beach bum for quite a while if I want,” he says. “But I reckon I'll need a place to live, so there'll be that to keep me busy for a bit,” he says. He would happily live with Guinevere, but her father might make for a rather awkward roommate. Then a thought that has been formulating in the back of his mind since he walked into the hotel marches to the front of his brain and demands attention. “Guinevere,” he says, face turning serious.

“Yes?” she asks, intrigued by his sudden change in tone. She moves out of his lap and brings her chair around to the other side of the desk so she can sit closer to him.

“Forgive me, but it doesn't appear that your little resort is… seeing a tremendous number of guests,” he observes. “You mentioned that things have been a bit slow, but this…”

She frowns. “Okay, yeah, we've been _very_ slow,” she slowly nods. “We seem to have lost our niche, or whatever. I mean, I know we're not huge and we don't have _some_ of the amenities that the bigger places have, but we have a good portion of the best stretch of beach on this island and… well, how many resorts are there that are still family run? By its _original_ family?”

He loves her enthusiasm and passion for this hotel, and becomes swept up in it. _I know I can help make this place great._ “My love, do you recall exactly what my position was at Pendragon Industries?” he asks.

“You were Vice President in charge of Marketing and… Public… Relations…” she says, realization dawning. “Arthur…”

“Miss Leodegrance, would you consider hiring me? I can provide you with a C.V. and references if you require,” he asks, straightening up and appearing very businesslike apart from the fond twinkle in his eyes.

“I'll be in touch,” she answers, moving to stand. He grabs her around the waist and pulls her back onto his lap. “Arthur!” she exclaims, then immediately puts her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

“Let me help you. Please,” he softly says, gently peeling her fingers away from her mouth so he can kiss it. “Let me use my skills to do something that will mean something, not only to me, but to you.”

“Yes,” she answers, nuzzling his nose with hers. “But first, you have to meet my father. He's not officially in charge anymore, but… his opinion is very important to me, and I'd like his input.”

“Of course,” he immediately replies.

 

xXx  
Two Weeks Later

 

_What do you mean you're not coming home?_

Arthur stares at Uther's text. He doesn't know how he can make things any clearer. How to make his father understand that his home is _here_ now. His home is where Guinevere is.

_I am staying in Turks and Caicos, Father. A permanent move. Merlin is sending me some of my things and Leon has instructions for what to do with the rest. I'm happy here, and I hope you can accept that._

He doesn't tell his father that Leon will be moving out here soon as well. Not thrilled with his new position in Pendragon Industries, he _asked_ Arthur if he could remain under his employ. After discussing it with Guinevere, a Skype call so Guinevere could meet Leon, and _another_ Skype call with Guinevere and her father, they decided he would make an ideal hotel manager, freeing up Guinevere's time to lead tours (which she enjoys) and fully take on the role of owner.

Arthur's phone pings again. He sighs, but his expression quickly changes when he sees it's not from his father.

_Lunch?_

He gets up and walks from his office to Guinevere's next door, entering without knocking.

“Lazy?” he asks, grinning at her.

“Yes,” she answers, laughing. “I still love that I can summon you at will,” she admits, standing and crossing to him. “The novelty has not worn off yet.” She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him.

“Mmm, these dresses you wear are going to be the death of me,” he rumbles, skating his lips over her bare shoulders. Her dress isn't revealing or even very short, but Arthur seems to have a definite _thing_ for her shoulders. And this particular sundress is strapless.

“Arthur…” she says, trying to protest. “I'm hungry.”

“Me, too.” He gently bites her neck.

“For _lunch_ ,” she reminds him. “I want… mmm… I want to check the restaurant.”

“Okay,” he answers, pecking her lips. “It hasn't been very long, but we can see what's going on.” One of the first suggestions he made was to update, brighten up, and promote the resort's restaurant, which is open to the public. “If we get non-guests coming to dine and they enjoy their experience, perhaps they'll consider staying here next time,” he had advised.

As they walk the short distance, Arthur's mobile pings. His hand automatically goes to grab it, but remembers he is no longer his father's flunky, and drops his hand.

“You can get that,” Guinevere says.

“It's all right,” he replies. “Just a reflex I need to retrain.” It pings again.

“See who it is at least,” she urges.

He takes his phone out and sees two texts from Elena.

_Are you really staying there??_

_UTHER IS THROWING A TANTRUM BLOODY HELL YOU REALLY ARE STAYING THERE_.

Arthur chuckles. Poor Elena; she must be over at their fathers' for dinner. He angles his phone so Guinevere can see.

“Oh dear,” she says.

_HOW DARE YOU ABANDON ME!_

The third text comes while they are looking at the phone.

“She's just being dramatic,” Arthur says. “She doesn't work for Uther; she'll be fine.” He sends a reply saying basically what he's just told Gwen, and they start walking again.

“How was she exempt?” Guinevere asks.

“She's a Gawant, not a Pendragon,” he shrugs. “Godwin doesn't have the same… dictatorial bent Father does, even though he is basically Uther's equal in the company. I mean, they would have found a place for her if she had wanted to work for them, but she didn't want to. Godwin gave her his blessing, and Uther couldn't – or wouldn't – dispute it.” He gets another text, and laughs when he reads _I'm going to take up a collection and send them to Gwen's resort on vacation._

He shows Guinevere and she says, “We could do with prominent guests like that actually.”

“Fair point,” Arthur allows. He texts back _Bring it._

“What does Elena do?” Guinevere asks.

“Interior design,” he answers.

“We should consult with her on updating this place. Once things pick up enough so we can afford to, of course,” she thoughtfully suggests as they walk into the restaurant.

“Good idea,” he nods. “I mean, unless you know someone local we should use. I think we should keep this place as authentic as we can.”

“Yes, absolutely. Hello, Olivia,” she greets the hostess.

“Miss Gwen, Mister Arthur,” Olivia smiles. “Would you like a table?”

“We'd love one, thank you,” Arthur answers.

 

xXx  
Three Months Later

 

The lobby isn't hectic, but it is busier than they've been in at least a year. Between updating the website, investing in some serious international advertising, and Leon running the Angelfish like a well-oiled machine, business is really picking up.

Arthur got to meet Elyan over Christmas, and Guinevere's brother was glad to see how business was picking up under Arthur's guidance and thrilled to see how happy he makes his big sister.

Merlin and Morgana came out for a short, four-day mini-vacation over New Year's, booking the Honeymoon Suite despite having been married for nearly six months.

The hotel staff have fully embraced Arthur as one of their own, and Jewel regularly jokes about wanting to adopt him (among other things). Leon has settled in as manager quite well, and seems to have his eye on a local artisan named Bella, who sells handmade jewelry from a stall near the resort. He just hasn't been brave enough to ask her out yet.

Arthur looks down at the black box resting on his palm, pondering its contents, wondering for the thousandth time if it is too soon to ask. He's happier than he's ever been here on the island, with warm Caribbean breezes and friendly Caribbean people and his beautiful Caribbean goddess.

He feels like more than just a pawn in the massive chess game that is Pendragon Industries. He feels like he is helping to build something that actually matters here. He feels truly comfortable, truly himself, truly _home_ for the first time in his life.

He opens the box. And now he wants more. He wants the final piece.

He closes it again and slips it into his pocket. As he exits his suite – he has chosen to just live at the hotel rather than finding a place – he thinks of the one very practical reason to act sooner rather than later: Tom isn't getting any healthier, and Arthur knows it will mean a lot to Guinevere for her father to walk her down the aisle, even if _she_ is actually supporting him while they walk.

“I know what you're on about, Mr. Arthur,” Jewel calls as he passes the front desk. She is just finishing her shift. “I know that look.”

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,” Arthur replies, unable to hide his grin. He pauses near Jewel and offers his arm. “May I?”

“Sugar, you better,” Jewel answers, taking his arm. “I'm goin' the same way you know.”

“I know,” Arthur replies. Jewel lives just beyond Tom's house. They wave to Naomi behind the desk and head out. The sun is getting low in the sky, and Arthur hopes to capitalize on what he hopes will be a beautiful sunset.

They chat companionably as they walk, which basically consists of Jewel keeping up a running commentary about everything going on around them, sprinkled with whispered gossip about certain individuals and what they’re doing with whom.

When they stop at the walkway to Guinevere’s house, Jewel turns to Arthur and says, “She’ll say yes.”

Arthur softly chuckles to himself. “If you say so.”

“Sugar, I’ve known Miss Gwen for ten years now. And I ain’t ever seen her in love with someone like she’s in love with you. If I’m wrong, you can dock my pay for a month,” she assures him. She puts her warm hand on his arm and says, “I’m sure because when I look at the two of you, I see me and my Isaac… over 30 years ago now.”

Arthur smiles, a bit surprised. Guinevere had told him that Jewel was a widow, but she never speaks of her late husband. He’s also surprised because Jewel is apparently quite a bit older than she appears.

His surprise must be visible on his face, because Jewel breaks out in a loud laugh. “Yes, honey, I’m easily old enough to be your mama and then some. Now go.” She leans up and gives him a peck on the cheek before walking off, her stride quick and businesslike.

He watches, laughing, as she pauses to scold a passing cat, then turns down the walkway. He can see Tom sitting on the porch, watching him approach as though he, too, knows, what Arthur is “on about”.

“Big Tom”, they call him. Tom Leodegrance is a tall, burly man with kind, crinkly eyes that sparkle with fondness when he looks at his daughter. Arthur immediately recognized him as “Big Tom Leo”, a former professional rugby player who was a favorite of Uther’s when Arthur was a child. Big Tom’s career was short but memorable, his early retirement caused by a career-ending injury to his back which has become the source of most of his current medical issues.

“You’re a bit early,” Tom greets Arthur when he is close enough.

“I know. I came to talk to you for a few minutes first,” Arthur replies, climbing the steps to the porch.

Tom nods, leaning forward to set his drink on the table. When he grimaces, Arthur gently lifts it from his hand and sets it down for him.

“Thanks,” he sighs, then looks over at Arthur. “Don’t get old. It’s a real bugger.”

“I’ll try not to,” Arthur answers.

After a moment spent watching a large bird swoop onto the lawn and peck around for bugs, Tom says, “I know what you’re trying to work up to ask me.”

Arthur leans back in his chair, withdraws the box from his pocket, and hands it across to Tom. “I love Guinevere. You know this. I would like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life making her happy. With your blessing, of course.”

Tom takes the box, but doesn't open it. “She was sad when she came back from Morgana's wedding. I thought something terrible had happened,” he comments. “Turns out she was just missing you.” He looks over at Arthur. “You're serious about this then,” he says. “Giving up a life of luxury, a life of being a Pendragon… for her.”

Arthur pauses a moment before answering. “I don't see that I'm giving anything up, sir,” he answers. “The way I see it, I am gaining everything. I told Guinevere when I first arrived here: my priorities were out of whack. Now they're just about where they should be.”

Tom turns the box over in his fingers, still not opening it. “You make my Gwennie happy,” he observes. Then he hands Arthur the box and says, “See that it continues.”

Arthur takes the box back and returns it to his pocket. “Guinevere's happiness is my first priority,” he answers. “I know we haven't known each other a very long time, but… she is everything to me.”

“Good. Because she's everything to me, too,” Tom replies, offering his hand. Arthur shakes it and Tom simply says, “Go on.”

Arthur hands Tom his drink, stands, then pauses by the door. “You didn't want to see the ring?”

“Wouldn't be right for me to see it before she does,” Tom answers, then takes a sip of his drink.

 

xXx

 

Guinevere is in the kitchen, putting together some dinner for her father. Arthur walks up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist.

“Oh!” she exclaims, tilting her head to the side as he kisses her neck. “You're early.”

“Thought we could take a walk on the beach before dinner,” he says, still nuzzling her. “It's a beautiful night and the sunset is starting to look pretty impressive.”

“Sounds nice,” she says. “You're really embracing this island lifestyle, aren't you?” she asks, turning in his arms.

“I love it,” he answers, kissing her. “And I love you.” He kisses her again to stop himself from proposing to her right there in the kitchen. “It's actually very… freeing, being here.”

She smiles and steps out of his embrace to pick up her father's plate. “Freeing?” she asks. “Papa! Dinner!” she calls.

“Yeah… people thought I was the luckiest lad in the world, being Uther Pendragon's son… silver spoon firmly in my mouth, heir to an empire, the world at my feet,” Arthur explains, leaning against the counter, watching Guinevere portion out some medications for her father while Big Tom slowly makes his way to the kitchen. “Honestly, it was stifling. I felt…”

“Trapped?” she asks.

“Yes,” he sighs. “Trapped under expectations, trapped into becoming someone I apparently wasn't meant to be. Out here, with you… I can be myself.”

She smiles. “I like that; you being yourself,” she answers. “Make sure you take these after you've eaten some,” she reminds her father, who came in while Arthur was talking.

“Yes, I know,” Tom answers, sitting. “Thank you, sweetheart. This looks delicious.”

“Arthur and I are going down to the beach for a bit before we go to dinner,” she says, leaning down to kiss her father's cheek. “You'll be okay?”

“I'll be fine,” he answers. “Don't you worry none about me.”

“Sir,” Arthur nods at Tom, then follows Guinevere out the back door.

“Oh, you're right,” she sighs, looking up at the sky. She wraps a shawl she's brought around her shoulders as the breeze kicks up. “The sky is all pink and orange.”

Arthur takes her hand, letting her lead. “Where are we going?” he asks. He's been on the Leodegrance family property nearly every day since he's been here, but this is the first time they've gone the way she's currently leading them.

“My secret place,” she says, grinning back at him.

“Oh,” he replies, but inside, his heart starts pounding. _Does she know? Everyone else has read me like a large-print book; has she figured out my plan as well?_ “Any reason?” he asks, striving for casual.

“I remembered I haven't shown it to you yet,” she answers, ducking under a low tree branch. “And I want to share it with you.”

He smiles and mostly relaxes, following her down a slope to a hidden tidepool beside a few large rocks and a small, cavelike indentation. There's something inside the cave, and he squints, trying to see it. “What's that?”

“A big plastic zipper bag with a few blankets inside,” she answers. “I keep them down here in case I get chilly.”

He chuckles fondly at her, following her around the edge of the pool. “This is brilliant, Guinevere,” he says. She sits on a boulder and he joins her. “What do you normally do down here?”

“Oh, sometimes I bring a book, or my iPod… or both. Sometimes I just sit and watch… everything. The clouds. The ocean. The pool,” she answers, slipping her feet out of her sandals to just touch the water with her toes.

“Ever bring a boy down here?”

“You're the first person I've ever brought here,” she answers, looking over at him.

He leans over and kisses her. “Thank you. I am honored.”

“Like I said, I wanted to share this with you,” she whispers.

He kisses her once more, his hand ghosting over the lump in his pocket. “I want to share everything with you,” he says. The sky is turning more orange and red than pink now, the horizon aflame. “My whole life. Everything I have, everything I am is yours,” he continues, reaching into his pocket. He awkwardly turns on the boulder, wishing there was a place he could kneel, but he can't wait any longer. “Will you marry me, Guinevere?” He opens the box and offers it to her.

“Yes, Arthur!” she breathily exclaims, throwing her arms around him, trapping the ring box between them. “Yes,” she repeats, whispering in his ear, her lips brushing against the outer shell. Then she pulls back and fervently kisses him.

When they part, the ring almost falls into the tide pool, but Arthur catches the box just in time. “Whoa, we better get this on your finger before some sea creature decides to make off with it,” he says. He removes it from the box and slides it onto her finger.

“It fits pretty well,” she says, admiring it. “It's beautiful.”

“It was my mother's. I had it restored, and Merlin brought it with when he and Morgana came,” Arthur explains. “We can get it sized if it's too big,” he observes, holding her hand. It looks good. Like it belongs there. But it is just a little big.

“I love it,” Guinevere answers. “I love you,” she adds, echoing his earlier sentiment. Then she stands, tugging his hand.

“Where are we going now?” he asks, then immediately goes, “Oh,” when leads him across to the little cave. She drops his hand and opens the bag holding the blankets.

“There may have been another reason why I brought you down here,” she admits, spreading the blankets on the floor of the little cavern. “I didn't know you were going to propose, so now it's even more special.” She invitingly lounges on the blankets, waiting for him.

“Mmm,” he agrees, liking this surprisingly naughty side of her. He ducks into the cavern and drops over her, kissing her. “You say you've never brought anyone down here?” he asks.

Her fingers are already at his belt, unbuckling it. “Well, I'm not saying I've never had an orgasm down here, but—”

“Guinevere!” he yelps, laughing in surprise at her admission. “Wow, I was not expecting that…”

She giggles, slipping her hand inside his pants, her palm cool and soft against his rapidly-hardening member.

“God, I love you,” he groans, latching onto her neck with his mouth as his right hand goes exploring, working the skirt of her sundress up, shifting slightly to free the material from under his legs. His hand moves higher, expecting to encounter the tiny bit of fabric that passes for her panties, but he finds nothing but warm, moist heat under his fingers. “Bloody hell,” he curses, groping around more. “I think you forgot something.”

“No, I didn't,” she answers, reaching up with her free hand to push the top of her sundress down, exposing her breasts to him. “It was a very deliberate omission.” Her voice is breathy and ragged, and Arthur cannot get enough of it or her.

“I think I just found your secret place,” he murmurs, grinning against her skin while her gasp of pleasure turns into giggles, then back into a gasp.

“Oh… Arthur… we can't take to long…”

“I know,” he answers, giving her nipple one more sucking kiss before positioning himself and sliding into her. “I don't think that'll be a problem,” he rasps, finding her lips with his as he thrusts.

Guinevere reaches down and plunges her hands into the back of Arthur's trousers, which are open and resting halfway down his backside, squeezing the firm muscles there. He moves one hand to cup and gently squeeze her breast, kissing her all the while.

She takes the hand at her breast and moves it down, guiding it between them. He takes the hint and rubs soft, small circles until she cries out and bucks beneath him. He withdraws his hand, sweetly kisses her, then drives into her a few more times before he comes, his forehead resting against hers, eyes tightly closed, his body still.

“God, I love you,” he exhales, carefully withdrawing from her, trying not to make a mess, as he knows they'll likely encounter Big Tom again before they go to dinner.

“I love you, too,” she replies, quickly kissing him before straightening up and fixing the top of her sundress. “That was fun,” she adds, grinning.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Wasn't that hard on your back though?”

“A bit,” she admits. He stands and helps her with the blankets, and they check one another over to make certain they look presentable.

“Well, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry,” Arthur says as they walk back to the house.

“Yes. I'd like to show my father before we go, if that's all right,” Guinevere replies.

“Of course. I would have been surprised if you didn't.”

They head inside, and Guinevere quickly visits the bathroom before they seek Tom out.

Tom is still in the kitchen, washing his plate at the sink. “How was your walk?” he asks, not turning around.

“Surprising,” she answers, walking up to stand at her father's right side. She puts her left hand on top of her father's right.

Tom smiles and looks over at his daughter's beaming face. “I'm very happy for you, Gwennie,” he says, quickly drying his hands, then hugging her tightly.

“He told you, didn't he,” Gwen says, chuckling in her father's ear.

Tom pulls back and says, “He came and asked for my blessing, like a proper gentleman, even though it was completely unnecessary because I trust you implicitly.”

“Good answer,” she says, lifting up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You need to go rest.”

“For what it's worth, you saw the ring before I did,” he says, lifting her hand to take a better look. “Family heirloom?” he asks Arthur.

“My mother's. And my grandmother's, come to think,” Arthur answers. “And now, my Guinevere's.”

Tom takes Guinevere's hand, which he is still holding, and places it in Arthur's. “I trust her, and I'm choosing to trust you,” he says to his future son-in-law.

“I won't disappoint either one of you, sir,” Arthur replies. “I meant everything I said to you earlier.”

Tom nods, reaches for his cane, then turns towards the kitchen door. “Have a good dinner,” he says.

Alone in the kitchen, Arthur pulls Guinevere into his arms, just holding her close. “My entire life has been lived according to my father's wishes. Now I'm my own man, living on my own terms, doing what _I_ want to do, largely because of you, and it's… amazing,” he says. “I don't think I can remember a time where I've been happier,” he admits, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

“You know what?” she asks, nuzzling his neck. “Me either. I mean… I've always been reasonably happy, for the most part. But now?” she leans back to look up at him. “When I met you at Morgana and Merlin's wedding, I never would have thought… would never let myself dare to hope…” She kisses him. “Yet here you are. Here _we_ are. And I cannot stop smiling.”

He leans down and kisses her smiling lips, happy and hopeful and looking forward to his future for the first time in his life.


End file.
